The Moon in the Palace (The Empress of Bright Moon Duology)

by Weina Dai Randel

  I shielded my eyes to block the bright sunlight reflected from the canal. I did not wish to blink, unwilling to miss anything. The streets were as wide as the sky, and maples, elms, oaks, and junipers were spaced out neatly at the sides. Everything seemed organized and orderly; even the horses stopped nickering, as if awed by a silent code of obedience.

  Two streets ran parallel to my left. On the far side, people ambled to exit the city, while the middle lane was unoccupied. Soon, a group of horsemen in hats and boots trotted along that street. At first I thought they were the Emperor’s guards, but when they drew closer, I realized they were noblemen. They were better dressed than anyone in my hometown, their hats thick with stripes of fur, their silk sleeves dropping low to their boots. In Wenshui, everyone greeted me on the street, but these people passed us as if we did not exist.

  “Where is the palace?” I asked Mother.

  “Look over there. See that red wall? That’s the palace wall,” Mother said, her arms around my sisters. Big Sister was sleeping, but Little Sister, who was born with a weak heart, moaned deliriously. She had fallen sick during the journey.

  I stroked her shoulder to soothe her, and when she calmed down, I moved closer to the window. The vermilion gates, studded with bronze balls, were tall and wide, but I was not impressed. They looked similar to our own front gates, but as the carriage moved along, I realized how enormous the palace entrance really was, and it did not have just one, but three entrances—left, middle, and right. The middle one, reserved only for the Emperor and the late Empress—I remembered what Father had told me—was the grandest. It had one arched bridge in the front; two prancing stone kylins, the mythical unicorns; and two watchtowers standing on the top of the wall like pavilions floating in the air.

  Father had said that the palace contained 9,999 rooms, an auspicious number to suggest the longevity of the kingdom. Each room was covered with marble, and each pillar was carved with dragons and inlaid with jade and ruby. Day and night, the chambers were filled with the sound of lutes and zithers, and the palace women often sauntered about in rainbow-colored gauze robes adorned with perfumed girdles.

  And Emperor Taizong, for whom all the melodies were sung, for whom all the buildings were built…I wondered if he had received Father’s petitions. Would he summon me? If he wanted, he could find me easily, since the city kept strict records of who entered the ward and who lived with their kin.

  We finally arrived at Qing’s house, a small building of packed mud with a thatched roof. The moment he saw us, he asked for Mother’s coin pouch and our jewelry. That, I knew, was the only reason he was allowing us to stay.

  That night, we shared a bamboo mat in a small room with Qing’s two concubines and eight children. I hardly slept. Before dawn, a tattoo of drumbeats rose, the opening signal of the neighboring Western Market. I dressed and left Qing’s house quietly. I wanted to see the palace. I would not be able to enter, but perhaps by some luck I would see Emperor Taizong, and with Father’s contribution to Emperor Gaozu and the dynasty, surely Emperor Taizong would grant my wish and return our house to us.

  Outside Qing’s ward, the noise from the market echoed through the thick morning fog like thunder. I paused, shocked to see so many people around me. Vendors chased customers with flaccid quail, rabbits, and pit vipers flapping against their shoulders. Merchants dug their feet into the packed earth and pushed carts laden with bolts of silk. The fortune-tellers paced around, bamboo cards in hands and clouds of coppery dirt at their heels.

  I pushed through the crowd and arrived at the Heavenly Street that extended all the way to the palace’s front gates. An army of palace guards stood there, checking a throng of ministers holding emblems of a fish: the palace’s admission token. Only those bearing the token were permitted to enter the palace. There was no sign of the Emperor.

  Disappointed, I turned around and walked back to Qing’s house.

  • • •

  Living in Chang’an, I heard rumors about the palace all the time. People said the Emperor would summon fifteen maidens, the Selects, to serve him in the Inner Court that year, and the priority would be given to the high-ranking nobles’ daughters. My father, a governor, had been of high rank.

  I hoped the Emperor would summon me; it was the only way to meet him. And life in Qing’s household was miserable. He was poorer than any of my father’s servants. Many days went by without food, and if I was lucky, I ate the burned rice crisp scraped from the bottom of the pot. Big Sister was forced to marry a low merchant in the south so she would not burden us, and Little Sister grew sicker. I made some pickled cabbages and sold them at the market to get her medicine money.

  Then one day, my luck changed. Gongs clanged outside Qing’s house. A man holding a banner entered the gate. Behind him stood a carriage and a man who looked like a large gourd, with a potbelly, fat torso, and small head.

  “All kneel,” he ordered as my neighbors, Qing, and Mother gathered before him. Not sure what would happen next, I knelt beside Mother, holding Little Sister in my arms. The gourd man spread out a scroll with gilded edges—the emblem of an edict.

  In a singsong cadence, he read, “On the eighth month of the thirteenth year of the Reign of Peaceful Prospect, I, Emperor Taizong, the Emperor of China, the One Above All, the Conqueror of the North and the South, the ruler of all land and the seven seas, hereby do decree that the second daughter of Wu Shihuo, the former Governor of Shanxi Prefecture, the man who provided meritorious services to our kingdom, is to be chosen as one of the fifteen maidens who shall enter the Inner Court. Here, I give my decree.”

  The crowd gasped, and people surrounded me, shouting their congratulations. I nodded happily, for Father’s petitions had been heard, and I would go to the palace, just as he had wished. Yet I could not smile when I looked at Mother and Little Sister. I would need to abandon them; I had not thought of that. And my sister was so sick. Who would take care of them when I was in the palace?

  Later, after everyone left, Little Sister dozed off, and I sat on a bench with Mother. She dabbed her eyes.

  “These are tears of happiness,” she said.

  She sounded pleased, but I could still hear pain in her voice.

  I did not want to leave her either. In the palace, I would not see her face when I woke in the morning or hear her voice before I went to sleep. I would not be able to wrap my arms around her or listen to her breathe.

  “I don’t have to go,” I said, even though I knew I had no choice. No one dared to defy the Emperor.

  She shook her head. “You have to. This is for the best.”

  My heart heavy, I went behind her and rubbed her shoulders. Her back was hurting her in those days, and I had learned how to ease her pain. I held her shoulders with the strength I was born with, and I kneaded with all the misery and helplessness that bled from my heart. With my thumbs, I circled over her shoulder blades, the top of her shoulders, and then to her back. Under my fingertips, I felt her slack skin and hard bones—solid, resolute, comforting. Like love.

  Then I knew. Nothing would ever separate us, be it palace or graveyard.

  I eased the pressure and gently tapped her back with my fists. She relaxed and sighed in relief as she always did.

  “The Palace Escorts will fetch you in one month. Then you’ll start a new life,” Mother said.

  “A new life.” I nodded and looked around the courtyard, where cracked walls enclosed the small space. Before me, a pool of hogwash leaked under a bucket, and near the gate stood a broken spindle and a cooking pit built from mud. That place was not my home, but a reminder of what I had to do for my family—I had to help my mother and sister escape that terrible place, and I had to take care of them. It was possible, since I had been summoned to serve the Emperor. For if I won his favor, I could reclaim my family’s home and restore my family’s fortune. I could perhaps even fulfill Father’s wish for my destiny�
��to become the most powerful ruler in China.

  I went around and knelt before her so I could have a better look at her, at the face that had always looked composed but was recently carved with grief and fear, the face of home, the face that I would die to protect. “Will you take good care of yourself, Mother?”

  “I will,” she said, her calm eyes seeing through my soul, and gently, she pulled me closer to her. “Mei. You’re alone, you have no one to help you, and in your heart, you have too much metal and not enough water. Do you understand what kind of place the court is?”

  I knew my words would not soothe her, so I said, “Mother, do you remember that Father used to teach me Sun Tzu? He once explained to me the difference between an ordinary fighter and a good fighter.” He had quoted the master’s words and told me to memorize them: “‘To lift a feather is no sign of great strength; to see the sun and moon is no sign of sharp sight; to hear the noise of thunder is no sign of a quick ear.’”

  “Ah.” Mother nodded. “So you’ll learn to be a good fighter.”

  “Oh no, Mother.” I smiled. “I will be a clever fighter, who not only wins, but also wins with ease.”

  With that, I hugged her.

  AD 639

  the Thirteenth Year of Emperor Taizong’s Reign of Peaceful Prospect

  AUTUMN

  3

  Two Palace Escorts in maroon capes came to fetch me on the fifteenth day of the ninth month. In my full court regalia, a skirt of pink peony paired with white trousers and a green top, I entered a carriage with a blue roof. Near it, Mother dabbed her face. She was alone now. Little Sister had passed away. The horses began to trot, and Mother called out softly, following me. The distance between us grew, and her figure, like a statue on the other side of an opaque silk screen, dwindled and slowly melted away, only her voice, faint but distinct, ringing in my ears.

  I leaned back. I would see her again, and when I did, I would make sure she would be safe, happy, and have no fear or worries. I wiped away my tears. Inside, the carriage was dark. The Escort with a patch of purple birthmark covering half of his face, known as the Captain, had closed the window.

  The ride seemed to go on forever. We coursed through Qing’s ward, where dogs barked and hens clucked. Then we entered the avenue and approached the clamorous outer walls of the Western Market, where people haggled and peddlers called, “Noodles, noodles! One copper a bowl. Fresh, handmade noodles!” Then we arrived at the quiet alleys, where some loud Taoist hymns drifted in the air. I did not know what they meant, nor was I interested. Taoism was the official religion in our kingdom, which the Emperor claimed was founded by his ancestor Lao Tzu. But I had not seen a single Taoist abbey in Wenshui; in the capital, they were everywhere.

  The two Escorts’ voices came to me through the cracks of the carriage. I listened intently. I wished to know what they were talking about, but I could not hear them clearly above the rumbling of the wheels. I wanted to ask if they had picked up the other fourteen Selects the Emperor had summoned. Or should I say something memorable to them so they would have a good impression of me? I would like them to remember me. It would be useful to have friends in the palace.

  My bottom slid on the red cushion as the carriage tilted backward. We were ascending a bridge. I grabbed the window frame to steady myself. The carriage slowed and then raced down. I balanced myself again. More horses trotted outside. It sounded as if we were approaching the boulevard near the Heavenly Street. Soon I would enter the palace’s gates. My hands grew sweaty.

  Think of Father, I reminded myself. Think of his dream and how he raised you. I would not disappoint him, and when I won the Emperor’s heart, I would make my father proud, I would restore all the fortune my family had lost, and I would be able to take good care of Mother.

  I took a deep breath, and the carriage stopped. We must be at the front gate where the stone animals stood. The Captain announced my arrival. Many footfalls rose at once. A man answered, and the gates clanked open. I leaned forward, ready to disembark.

  But the carriage continued to roll, and a wave of voices rose outside the window—men inquiring about one another’s health, men shouting at scribes to hurry up, men asking one another’s opinions on taxes. I leaned back. So this was the Outer Palace, where the ministers conducted their business. Finally, the carriage arrived at a quiet area, where cries of birds echoed from a distance.

  We stopped again.

  “Out!” a woman’s raspy voice shouted outside.

  I balled my skirt in one hand, pushed open the carriage door with the other, and stepped out.

  The bright afternoon sunlight blinded me. I blinked, standing in the middle of a pebble path. Facing me were rows of houses with blue roofs and red pillars. The pillars, round and tall, looked majestic, and the roofs were elegant, with tips turning upward at the corners, but when I looked carefully, I could see the surface of some pillars were cracked, exposing dark wood beneath.

  It was quiet too. No merry chuckles or sound of zithers in the air. Behind the latticed doors, a shadow slid and peered outside, watching me.

  “This way,” the raspy voice said again behind me, startling me. The woman was alone. “I shall take you to your room.”

  The old servant limped past the houses and led me down a narrow trail through elm trees. Her shoulders dipping and rising, she looked like a boat near capsizing, reminding me of Mother’s stiff back. I offered the servant a hand, but she only scowled and waved me off.

  It was cooler in the shade; a pool of light from the canal shone through the thinning leaves. In the distance, a gray pavilion stood forlornly like a faded parasol. I tried to remember the locations so I could explore in the future, but the path wound around as if to test my memory. Soon, it was hard to tell how far I was from the entrance. We walked by barren flower beds, a greenish pond with withering water lotus, and two zigzagging wooden bridges before reaching a poplar grove. Behind the grove, high walls spread like a gray curtain. I hesitated, suddenly feeling sad. Beyond the wall lay the forest, and beyond the forest was my home and the people I called family.

  I composed myself and hurried to follow the servant, who was already a great distance ahead of me. We stopped at a large compound with walls and entered it. Crossing the courtyard, the servant led me to a chamber on the right and pushed open the door. Inside, a group of girls sat on the floor. They looked to be my age, thirteen or fourteen. The colors of their gowns were bright, like the rouge on their faces.

  From the way they sat, I could tell they were like Big Sister, who had always behaved like a dainty lady at home. Oftentimes, she had reminded me to cover my mouth when I laughed and instructed me to walk as though bearing a tray of fruit on my head. She had been annoying enough, but I had to deal with fourteen girls like her.

  One girl, with eyes shaped like almonds, rose and studied me. Her gaze lingered on my face, my robe, and then paused on my shoes. I curled my toes in embarrassment. Her shoes were made of thick red brocade and embroidered with intricate patterns of yellow flowers, and mine were of plain cloth. But before Father’s death, I had worn shoes decorated with gold leaves and jade rings, each costing more than anything the girl wore.

  I remembered courtesy. “Wu an.” Good afternoon. I bowed.

  She only dipped her head, as if she thought she was superior to me.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, are you a new Select?” I asked, trying to speak pleasantly.

  “We are all the new Selects, chosen by the Emperor this year,” she said, lifting her chin. “But I arrived here three days ago, before all of you did.”

  I wanted to ask if she had already met the Emperor, but she walked to another girl near her, cupped her hand near the girl’s ear, and whispered, glancing at my shoes. Even though I could not hear her—and I did not need to—I knew what she was saying. My back grew rigid, and my cheeks burned with humiliation.

  I t
urned to study the surroundings. The bedchamber was pitifully small and unadorned. The only furniture was the low table where the other Selects sat. The walls were bare, without a single painting or mural. The famous palace seemed more austere than a servant’s quarters in my home.

  Two servants brought trays and bowls that contained supper: several bamboo shoots, some soybeans, a chunk of winter gourd, two buns made of corn. No meat. I was disappointed and surprised too. In Wenshui, I had eaten meat and eggs for every meal.

  When night fell, the room became so dark that the other girls turned into blots of shadows. They spread out on the floor, sleeping on small bamboo pallets. I looked around. There was one pallet left in the corner, so I took it, spread it out, and lay down.

  “Have you ever wondered,” said the girl with almond-shaped eyes, who I later learned was the daughter of the Xu family in the capital, “what the Emperor looks like?”

  So she had not met the Emperor either. But she seemed to be the one in charge, speaking in such an authoritative tone, and all the other girls fawned over her, calling her Older Sister Xu, although she was neither old nor sisterly.

  “They say his skin shines like gold,” the Select with a flat nose next to me answered. “He also has the mind of a sage, the strength of a steed, and—”

  “The heart of a lion,” another added.

  Waves of giggles followed.

  I did not understand what the joke was, but the tone of their voices confirmed something I had already suspected. I was not the only one who had come with an ambition to win the Emperor’s heart.

  I slept shallowly and rose before dawn. Watching the others rolling up their pallets, I did the same and put mine away in the corner. The girls sat in front of their bronze mirrors, dabbing red tinctures on their faces, plucking their eyebrows, binding their hair in Cloudy Chignon, a ridiculous style with their hair piled loosely on top of their heads like black clouds. I dressed, wiped my face, and was ready.